Stories Involving Maple Leaves and Yellow Peeps
by ikittykat
Summary: This will be a collection of one-shots whose storylines will randomly come to me. They'll all be in the same universe, with the same people, and not exactly in chronological order. It is rated M for a reason, nya ;P
1. Blood that Lingers

**Disclaimer(Because everyone seems to have one...Even though we're all on a fanfic site and know that we don't own all the characters or anything. Except OCs, we own those.):** **I of course do not own Hetalia, or Prussia(Gilbert). That is all, nya~ ^-^**

**This is my first fanfic, or more like series of fanfics I should say. Depending on how reviews go I'll keep posting in this just random one-shot-like stories. "One-shot-like" because they won't be a very coherent long story, but they will take place in the same universe with the same characters, going through different parts of their lives, and possibly not even in order.**

**While writing this I was listening to watch?v=JRfuAukYTKg&feature=relmfu on repeat...I literally listened to it 60 times, no joke.**

**That is all! Enjoy! Or don't... It's whatever ya know~! ^-^**

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_Blood that Lingers_

The warm steel slipped from his numb fingers, sweat drops tried to match the firearm's speed to the tiled floor below. All he could hear was the blaring of Schubert's piano pulsing its way into his core, his fibers hummed with peaceful bliss. His mind was a mess of ideas, and the pristine walls of the cell was his canvas. Heavy chains burdened his wrists with their painful grasp, he paid them no mind though. His sole interest was in the masterpiece before him. Many would call him a "piece of work" and his real work a "sorrowful display of misplaced anger." A silver piece of hair drifted into his view, quickly to be pushed back, to be reunited with its kindred and staying in place with a mixture of blood and sweat.

Blood, sweat, and tears are what it took to make this seemingly random stroke of genius. Soon enough he found a frown tugging at his mouth, mentally remembering that he should be leaving. The bastard's reinforcements would be coming any second and he'd be caught in the same shit that he had been in no longer than two hours ago.

He ran for it, grabbing another handgun from where he had stuffed it between his pants and his back. Feeling warm steel in his hand the Prussian was filled with intense desire yet again, only this time to leave the hell-hole he had helped create. His legs propelled him away from his masterpiece of a room, onwards toward the life he had been ripped away from.

Drops of life were still making their way down the bleached walls, adding more depth to the picture. Handprints went up and down its interior, many streaked with unfeeling fingers trying to find purchase where there was none to be found. Sprinkles of crimson quickly dulling to brown decorated the flat ceiling. Ruby glaze was administered in uneven layers around the room. To the untrained eye it would be seen as carelessness, to a true artist it would be labeled as a unique placement of texture. The floor was not to be considered in this painting, blood pooled inartistically around the room like spilled paint. The three bodies whose lives were taken for the endeavor were scattered in random places. Next to the head of who was deemed to be in charge was the signature of the artist, along with a message to his real captor, "Sie sollten versuchen, härter, mich zu töten, wenn das ist Ihre wahre Absicht du Sohn einer Hündin. Der großartige Preußen"  
_You should try harder to kill me, if that's your real intention you son of a bitch. The awesome Prussia_

That room would be a testament to his struggle. To his glory. To the Awesomeness that could only be Gilbert Beilschmidt.

* * *

**So short... Review please and let me know what you think! It'll get happier once we get Mattie into the mix.**


	2. Guten Abend

**Disclaimer(Because everyone seems to have one...Even though we're all on a fanfic site and know that we don't own all the characters or anything. Except OCs, we own those.): I of course do not own Hetalia, Matthew, or Gilbert. That is all, nya~ ^-^**

**While writing this I had this song on repeat: watch?v=doWIkO1GGVo**

**WARNING: Yaoi ahead, in other words guyXguy! If that's not your thing, then don't read.**

**That is all! Enjoy! Or don't... It's whatever ya know~! ^-^**

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_Guten Abend_

The door held no resistance from my rough shove, it swung freely like a bird jumping into flight. My feet were another matter entirely. I had lost count of how many times I'd tripped coming home, along with how many people I'd killed escaping that bastard Ivan. The searing pain encircling my wrists still made my eyes smart. I felt like a slaughter cattle: bought, branded, and tortured unto death. But I hadn't died. No, the awesome me had persisted and showed all those sons of bitches what I was made of.

Smirking, I entered my house. Well, it wasn't really my house, it was mein Birdie's, but since he was mein, it was my house as well. The smell of baking bread and freshly cut fruit wafted towards me from the kitchen. A genuine smile graced my lips, of course he would be cooking. It's what he does when he's worried, or tired, or just looking for something to do. Not to mention his damned polar bear ate like a fucking elephant.

I deftly dropped my blood soaked, black leather jacket on the floor while simultaneously kicking the door shut. The only clothes that had made it through my escape with me was my black muscle shirt, and holey black jeans.

"Alfred, have you heard anything about Gilbert?" Came my lover's hushed voice, echoing from the depths of the kitchen. My inner core warmed at just the whisper of his voice, emitted from soft lips, enunciated by a capable tongue. Stealthily, I made my way to the kitchen's entrance.

"Guten Abend, Birdie." Verdammit... My voice caught at the end. He was just so gorgeous. Dropping the spatula in his hand, my Canadian spun around to face me from his spot dutifully in front of his pancakes.

He wore his signature red hoodie, a cream coloured apron with the words "Embrassez le Cuisinier" hid the white maple leaf printed upon the hoodie. Jeans hung upon angled hips, and the polar bear slippers I had bought him covered his feet. His light orange-blond hair looked unkempt, no doubt from many sleepless nights. Underwire glasses stood askew towards the tip of his nose, about to fall off, unveiling his violet eyes. I wouldn't mind getting lost in those eyes, it would be time well spent. Overall, he was still mein Birdie, from hair curl to slippered foot.

"Mon Dieu." He muttered, "G-Gil?"

"In the flesh."

One instant Birdie was in front of the stove, the next he was hugging me fiercely, his fingers curled into the thin fabric on my back catching a bit of skin along with the cotton. I hugged him back, trying to force my muscles not to twitch as recently healed scars screamed in protest from the way they were being bent. It felt so nice, just to hold him as familiar heat started to fill my body, ebbing its way to every tendon and deep into my marrow.

All too soon, Birdie released his grip on me, and I conceded to do the same with him in preference of looking into each other's eyes. Well, I looked into his eyes. He was more intent on studying all of my exposed skin, with his mouth agape.

I tried to put on my best 'You want me to steal your vital regions?' smirk, only to feel like I was grimacing. "You know, if you missed looking at me that much I could take off the rest of my clothes." I jested.

"Actually, would you?" He practically ordered in a face serious enough to challenge Ludwig's. It took a half beat for me realize that he was not joking like I was.

"Uh, sure Birdie, but what about the pancakes?" The effect of my words hit home as his eyes widened in horror. He quickly turned, grabbed a new spatula, and flipped the perfectly done pancakes onto a waiting plate in one deft movement.

While he was distracted I moved myself to the bathroom. I undressed slowly, carefully inching the rough fabric off of my tender skin pausing only when the stretch of my new scars protested to the point of almost breaking. Once unclothed I stood in front of the full length mirror fastened between the two sinks we used. My lip twitched noticeably in the glass. If I were a painting, than the artist had a poor taste in colour. Almost every part of his skin held a bruise, or looked as if it had been bruised within the last month. Swirls of black, purple, blue, and yellow vied for dominance upon my skin's pale surface. There was the fading brown of one upon my left cheek that still hurt when I probed it a little. The bruising was worst around my thighs, on my chest, and my arms. My torturers had recently started a new technique that didn't involve beating my face, which I was thankful for. New laceration scars were noticeably pinker than their long healed brethren. These newcomers marked their way up my arms, along my toned abdomen, and a majority centered upon my back. All of them were healed, although it wouldn't take much for the ones on my back to open up again.

Sighing, I made my way into the open shower and turned it on so the temperature was a degree below scalding. As the droplets pelted my already tender flesh all I could do was stand there, soaking in the heat and the water that was not meant to purposefully hurt me or torture a confession out of obstinate lips. After about ten minutes of just soaking there I grabbed the soap bar, sudsing up my hands and then, mindful of my bruised cheek, I scrubbed my face. After washing the suds off I caught the now slippery bar and proceeded apprehensively to wash off the grime that was layered onto my skin. I got so lost in the warm caress of the water and watching the suds roll off my body, much like my worries, I never noticed him.

He didn't say a word as his arms slid to rest on my hips while his hands reached to take the soap from me. Gently he rested his chin on my right shoulder, his bare chest flush against my back sent sparks of electricity up my spine and caused my insides to tremble. Apparently it wasn't just my insides because Birdie let out a small chuckle before affectionately placing a kiss at the base of my neck and pulling himself away to clean his own body while I washed my hair.

~~~~~~~~~~ Matthew's Point of View ~~~~~~~~~~

Mon Dieu, the bruises. He was covered in them and made no point of saying if it hurt or not when I held him. I hadn't noticed the scars at first either, especially not when he had his shirt on. Of course I noticed the spot where my fingers had scraped one of his many newly made scabs. I had thought it was just his bunched up shirt, but Maple. I looked him over critically as I quickly washed my body, having taken a shower only the night before and not going anywhere during the day today.

Even the look in his normally sanguine eyes was enough to make my heart break. I couldn't even imagine the horrors that he went through this last month. He had tried to tell me about the time he was trapped by that fils de salop(sal-oh) Ivan. Gil hadn't even gotten a fourth of the way through telling me about the first day before I had gotten too squeamish to listen any more.

At the moment my Prussian was standing under the quickly cooling water with his eyes closed and his face towards the oncoming pelt of H2O. I couldn't stand it any longer, I gently wrapped my arms around his middle, my chest pressed against his healing back, and I rested my cheek on his left shoulder with my face towards his neck. He stiffened under me just before a shiver of pleasure(?) came over him. Or was the water just getting too cold for him? Either way I tightened my grip around his waist and nuzzled his cool neck. I didn't really want to initiate anything, in case he was too tired, but I made sure to let him know how much I missed him and that I was ready any time he was.

We stood there a few minutes until the water got to where it was just cold for me, but probably freezing for my lover. His hand reached up to the shower knob and turned the flow of ice water off. After an involuntary shudder he started to move out of the shower area, I released him from my grip so he could go to where we kept the towels. I followed of course and grabbed my own after he had his. I dried myself quickly and went into the bedroom to find my boxers and some lounge pants, leaving Gil in the bathroom to finish up brushing his teeth.

Clothed and ready for bed I made my way over to it, pausing just long enough to think of how I wouldn't be alone tonight, and also just long enough for strong, pale arms to wrap themselves around my bare abdomen.

"Have I ever told you how much I love the fact that you sleep shirtless?" A gruff voice whispered close to my ear. He didn't give me a chance to respond before the nipping started. He went from the nape of my neck, nipping then kissing it away until he was at my shoulder.

"Are you sure, Gil? Maybe we should wait til tomorrow so you aren't as tired." I turned my head to look at the man. His thin, red lips were pouted ever so cutely, and his ruby eyes held looks of want and lust. "Gi-" I was cut off as those red lips smashed into my own from pent up longing. I could taste the missed times that we had lost in the past months along with the remnants of peppermint from his toothpaste.

I turned to fully face him, my head tilted down to compensate for our two-inch height difference as his tongue probed my bottom lip, begging for entrance. I obliged as he started backing me up towards the bed, his thumbs already hooked the elastic in my pants. My calfs hit the bed frame sooner than either of us were expecting. I toppled back onto the mattress, my lover came down on top of me with a surprised huff. Mon Dieu, did he smell wonderful, the soap scent that now coated his bare skin wafted towards me along with his peppermint breath. The skin on skin contact ended up being too much for me as I felt my pants become tighter.

He reconnected the kiss, our tongues struggled for dominance until I relented and let him "win". His tongue meandered from the roof of my mouth, to my tongue, until I started sucking on it, causing him to let out a rumbling growl of approval. He pulled back just enough to break the kiss, then started planting them along my jawline. When he got to my neck he started biting hard enough to leave marks, and I didn't care. It was better having it hurt and knowing that he's here with me in this moment than the phantom kisses that teased my skin when he was away.

As he was kissing me his hands wandered, lovingly stroking the skin on my back, to my toned abdomen, to my chest where he tweaked one of my hardened nubs causing me to let out a low groan of pleasure. He made his way down to my left one and bit at it evoking a deep moan from me, along with a few more as he licked it and moved over to the right to do the same. His mouth continued its descent across my toned middle right up until it got to my pantline. He then quickly stripped me of my pants along with the boxers freeing my erection. And to my annoyance moved away and got up to reach for the nightstand drawer where we kept the lube.

While my lover was predisposed looking for the lube I moved onto the bed in a more comfortable position on my stomach. Finally he found it and returned already having the lid off and coating three of his fingers. He slowly moved one finger into my hole, peppering kisses along my backbone and shoulder blades as he did so. Soon a second finger joined the first and both started scissor-like motions, prepping me further. A third digit then joined and caused me to let out a small whine in pain. After a few moments he removed them all and replaced them something much bigger, and just so much better. A noise half between a whimper of pain, and a moan in anticipated pleasure escaped me. Once his full length was in it took me a bit to get used to it, some might call Gil's bluff on having five meters, but it sure as heck didn't feel like a bluff at these times.

"Move." I finally whispered. He started with small thrusts, but they soon grew harder and faster. It took him a few times, but finally he hit the bundle of nerves that caused low moans to escape me. As he was rutting into me he grabbed my length and started pumping in time to the thrusts. With a drawn out moan I came. After a few more thrusts, so did Gil.

"Ich liebe dich." Gil muttered in my ear, then fell down on the bed beside me.

"Je t'aime." I murmured back to him.

* is a German word/phrase is a French word/phrase

*Guten Abend- Good Evening

*Verdammt- Dammit

Mon Dieu- My God

Fils de Salop- Son of a Bitch

*Ich liebe dich- I love you

Je t'aime- I love you

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**This was my first time writing smut, please don't hate me! Dx**

**It was really short too...I might come back and lengthen it when I feel like I could do a better job, or just write another scene sometime. It really depends on what you all want... Please review and let me know what you think~!**


	3. Dripping Rubies

**Hello again lovelies ~! This chapter is where I start going out of order of events! I had a sudden depressed moment and needed to vent, so if Gilbert seems a little OOC it's because those are the parts where my brain took over. BUT! Do not fear, it wasn't too noticeable, I hope... Well, here we go.**

**Disclaimer: **

**Warnings! Self harm, suicidal thoughts, suicidal attempt, Strong Language, Alcohol**

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_Dripping Rubies_

They were all lined up, perfectly in order of how I'd want to try them. Their symmetry reflected the last bit of perfection in my life, the only perfection I've seen in over 3 months. I had spent 5 hours making them perfect, sharpening, counting, and gathering them all in this one place. This place that marked what could be my last hours, or last days. It didn't matter to me either way, hell, it might be more fun if it lasted longer. No one was going to come, no one cared. I fought off the bitter taste gathering in my mouth, opting to spit onto the tiled floor effectively getting rid of it.

Had my life really come to this? Had my soul been split into so many pieces, subconsciously going through a draw and quarter? I'd fought it for as long as I could, but I realize now, it was in vain. This was inevitable, nothing could have stop this. Nothing could have kept me from doing what I am about to do. Cheek muscles twitch at chapped lips, forcing them up into a snarky smile.

I'd searched. I'd fought. I'd almost died numerous times doing what I thought was right. And for what? This shitty life that was being thrown in my face by the ape-like people taunting me to do better. "Make something of yourself." they say, "Figure it out and actually do something for a change." Well listen up, fuckers, I've decided to actually take your advice. I'm full of surprises, aren't I? It's probably not what you expected, but at least I'm doing something. Something other than bathing in self-pity, I'm giving into the depression, giving into the lies, giving into temptation for one last time. I stare fondly at the items enjoying the sight of their unblemished states just sitting on the table, waiting for me.

Why did everything have to be so hard? I've learned the bitter fact that there is no black and white in this damned world. We're caught in an eternal grey fog that's sucked the joy of living from me. Sure, some things are fun, but for how long? I can only do things so many times before they become mundane, or meet so many people before you start to see at the base of things they're all the same. I'm sorry for you Birdie. That you've had to deal with me, that you'll have to feel the loss. Keh, how many lives have I influenced? How many people would actually be hurt from losing me? Of course we mourn, but in the end I'll only be a memory. That's what everyone is in the end after they're in the ground: a memory. For some I'll be a good memory, for others…Well fuck 'em, they don't matter anyways. My heart clenches, causing my hands to fist up in my lap.

What have I become? How did I become this monster? I'm my own worst enemy, my own phantom out to steal me away from all that I was and what I could have become. It doesn't matter now, I've made up my mind. I've never disappointed myself before in actually doing what I've resolved is the correct path to take. I might have questioned myself a little before and definitely afterwards, but I've always fulfilled what I've thought about doing for a long time. And mein Gott have I thought of doing this for a long, long time. I watch the steam mist off the top of my still warm beer.

Apathy has plagued me for so long…Surely he'll see this coming, surely it won't come as such a huge shock that it came to this. You know the thing about apathy? You don't give a fuck about anything, anything at all like feelings, or thoughts, or pain. When I felt something at least I knew I was alive and an actual human being. But now I'm no more than a broken, uncaring soul flitting from place to place freeloading off of people and causing annoyance where I go. When I first saw that the apathy was taking over I was scared, scared what I saw it doing to me and where the road I was going lead to. I felt like a child in the eyes of a predator, helpless and defenseless to do anything, but hoping that someone would see I needed help. Apparently I was too small to care about, too invisible to give a fuck about. Will it help me feel alive? To feel my life slip away? Will I then really feel alive?… Steady fingers slip around the hilt of the first item, a paring knife I found in the kitchen. I watch intrigued as my skilled fingers bring the blade down to my wrist, fondling the pale skin before breaking through the pitiful defense, eliciting several small rubies to spring up in the steel's wake.

The pain others felt release from did nothing but cause me to hiss in annoyed pain. I didn't enjoy it…But after a second swipe and a few minutes later I don't mind it as much. It makes me feel human, feel like I'm here and alive. The apathy flits away for awhile as I watch my life force draining from me. The rivulets create a crimson waterfall off my scarred wrists crashing to the tiled floor below making small pools and other rivers when they flow into the grout.

The worries I had before  
drop  
away.

The apathy returns slowly  
dripping  
in.

The annoyance creeps up  
draining  
me.

The fear I've felt before  
seeps  
through.

The knife  
slips  
from numb fingers.

They say the strong are the ones who survive, I must be weak then. The strong have courage to keep going on, striking through their worries and face them head on. I tried being brave. I tried being the person I thought I should be, but for what? I've been fighting to see the other side of the hill, the sunrise meant for me, and the light at the end of the tunnel. Well, I must have found a train because I'm not finding butterflies and candy drops. I've failed, not only myself but those close to me. I don't deserve them, can't they see that? Can't they see how fucked up I am and leave me to die? They've tried so hard, and I'm only going to disappoint them again. I'm used to that look though, that feeling of letting them down. Hell, I've done it so many times it's become second nature. How can they stand the monster I've become, not only to myself but to them as well. I've lost count of how many times I've cussed them out, how many times I've disregarded their concern. Keh, I'm a real douche aren't I? Shakily I wrap my wrists, causing the wonderful little waterfalls of rubies to cease their fall and clattering.

I'm pitiful. The strength I showed before was just a mask I hid behind, because if others saw the morose being I am why would they want me? Those who fight for me now only fight for what they thought I was. But…Was I really what they thought I was? Was I brave? Was I resilient? Braveness can be defined in more than one way. They always say those who fight their feelings of suicide are the strong ones, the brave, but aren't the ones who pull the trigger the brave ones? Don't they show more acceptance of the beyond than others who stay in this hell-hole? Death is one of the most feared things in our world, so wouldn't it make sense that those who choose are braver than those who don't? My jittery hands reach for the second and third items on the table: my beer and over-the-counter pain pills.

I've decided. This is it. I don't want to draw out this torture, this eternal frozen abyss I've fallen into. I'm beyond reach, no one can pull me out, no one should even think of trying to. It'd be a waste of all our times, resources, and money. That's all I've cost anyone since my dissolution. They've had to support me, help me through my own shitty existence. Of course I've had fun, but now it's gotten to where the bad outnumber the good. I take a long swig of the warm beer, feeling it sear it's way down my throat. Gott, if anything I'll miss beer. And mein Birdie… Nein! I can't think of him. I take another swig, then unscrew the cap of my pills and quickly put five into my hand. I swallow them with another pull from the beer. I repeat the process four more times for good measure.

Gott…My head is buzzing already, the pill bottle rolls from my opened hand onto the table stopping so the dosage faces me, mocking me. My vision is blurring, but the numbers and letters swirl in front of me -

Beilschmidt,  
Gilbert

Is that me? Was that my given name, when I was young and innocent? When I didn't know how fucked up the world was and when I had a hope for how things would go.

Dosage Amount per 2 pills

24 hours:  
1 to

Do NOT exceed dosage.

Kesesesese, if I wasn't suppose to go over, then why did they put so many Gottverdammt pills in the fucking bottle?

I'm flying, I'm released from everything I had worried about. Nothing could stop me now, nothing could make me regret what I am doing now.

Wait…No, I'm falling. How easily flying and falling can be misconceived by those wishing to fly. I'm falling, and I can't get up, no matter how much I wish my essence to be in the clouds.

CRASH!

What the hell? Pain would have seared through my arm and side if I didn't have 15 pain pills in my system. Or was it 20?… Either way I was on the floor now, disturbing the congealing pools of brown-red ribbons on the floor. My cheek rested on the soothingly cool tile, seeping the blistering heat off of my sweating forehead.

"Gilbert!"

Am I imagining things now? Pain pills are suppose to take pain away, but do they also create illusions?

"Merde. Merde, merde, merde. Gilbert!"

A presence hovered above me, or was it under me? Because a blurry face appeared in front of me as I felt a pressure under my upper back and neck lift me up.

"Gilbert…I- I'm sorry, but I can't lose you. I can't let you leave me like this."

I felt fingers force their way into my mouth and hit that spot in the back of my throat causing me to convulse.


End file.
